


what's in a name?

by cottagecorecas



Series: gardenias and daffodils [2]
Category: Supernatural
Genre: Castiel not realising how loved he is because he's a silly man, Domestic Fluff, Fluff, Jack being the good big brother I know he would be, Kelly Kline mention, M/M, Summer, Summer Barbeque at the deancas residence, Surprises, Uncle Cas, Uncle Dean
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-06-27
Updated: 2020-06-27
Packaged: 2021-03-04 02:34:48
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,169
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24946207
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/cottagecorecas/pseuds/cottagecorecas
Summary: one summer’s afternoon, tfw 2.0 have a barbeque in the deancas garden. cas thinks it’s just a normal day, but he’s about to feel extremely loved bc i just need him to and it's what he deserves, okay?
Relationships: Castiel & Original Child Character(s), Castiel & Sam Winchester, Castiel/Dean Winchester, Dean Winchester & Original Child Character(s), Eileen Leahy/Sam Winchester, Jack Kline & Original Child Character(s)
Series: gardenias and daffodils [2]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1805440
Comments: 15
Kudos: 64





	what's in a name?

**Author's Note:**

> hello again! i just wanted to say thank you to everyone that said such nice things about my last fic in this series. i was really nervous that people actually read my writing, which is stupid since i posted it publicly lol, but writing is quite personal and when there are so many amazing writers it's hard not to feel like your own work is the worst of the worst.  
> anyway, thanks for enjoying something my dumb brain created <3 if it wasn't for the positive feedback, this next part wouldn't exist.
> 
> p.s i've read over this so many times now that i'm pretty sure my eyes are blind to any grammatical errors/spelling mistakes at this point, so if there are any pls know i'm not stupid i just can't read very well :)

“Uncle Dean!” Freya chimes, squirming in Sam’s arms as soon as she sees him. From across the garden, Dean turns his head, his eyes glinting, his face beaming.

“Okay, okay,” Sam chuckles as he puts her down. As soon as her feet touch to cobblestone, she takes off up the path and into Dean’s arms.

“Heya, munchkin!” Dean says, scooping her up and spinning her around.

They’d been mistaken for father and daughter so many times, and it wasn’t hard to see why. When they were together, they were practically inseparable, and the house was decorated top to bottom with pictures of her. On the wall by the stairs there were three pictures from a day at the beach, one of Freya and Dean, his head poking out of the sand, a second where she and Jack are eating ice cream, and one of her and Castiel on a carousel, the terror on his face never failing to make Dean cry with laughter. She had her very own art exhibition on the refrigerator, with her scan picture front and centre and framed by endless finger-paintings and macaroni pictures and scribblings of misshapen people labelled “Deen”, “Cass” and “Jak”. Dean had insisted that they not only kept, but displayed, every single one, and of course Castiel didn’t argue. He still wore the little bracelet she’d made him from a piece of string when he’d babysat her for Sam and Eileen’s anniversary.

“She has not stopped talking about coming here today,” Sam says as he and Eileen head down the steps and towards the table.

Castiel laughs and follows them. “Neither has he.” In reality, Dean hadn’t stopped talking about her the moment Eileen had told them she was pregnant, but he hadn’t stopped talking about this day in particular since Sam had called to tell them that she’d had taken her first steps. Castiel must’ve heard Dean say that he couldn’t wait to take her around the garden a hundred times since that phone call.

Dean carries her in the crook of his arm, and he tickles her just under her chin. “Come on, little lady let’s go say hi to Jack.”

✿ ⚘ ✿ ⚘ ✿ ⚘ ✿

There was a smell of smoke as Sam tended to the barbeque, the sizzle and hiss of the coal blending with the distant hum of a lawnmower. The sun beams down on Castiel, his skin warm and tingly under its glow, and he feels a bead of condensation run down his fingers from the neck of the beer bottle where he holds it. His mouth is dry. He brings the bottle to his lips and lets the sweet, fizzy liquid bathe his tongue, cool and refreshing in the heat.

It was the height of summer and his garden was in full bloom, bright with the vibrant oranges, yellows and purples of the blossoming flowers, and the deep reds and pinks of his fruits, ripe and ready to be picked. On any other day Castiel would have lost himself in them for hours. He would have studied the shape of each flower’s blooms, admiring how the thin red tips of his striped carnations’ petals bled into a blush pink, and then washed out into a soft white closer to the centre. He would have watched as the bees flew from flower to flower, collecting their nectar, their fuzzy bodies dusted with pollen which scattered in the air when they took flight. Today though, nothing stood out to Castiel more than Dean did. In the light, the sweat on his skin made him glow, his cheeks rosy and his eyes gleaming, those irises greener than anything else in Castiel’s garden. His hair was ruffled where he’d pushed it back from his forehead, and his arms were bare for once, the lily-white patch of skin from the tip of his sleeve to just below his elbow browning under the sun’s rays. He was crouched beside Freya, next to the raspberry plants. Not wanting to disturb them, Castiel tried his best to make out what Dean was saying from his seat at the table.

“These are his raspberries. They’re pretty aren’t they?” He hears Dean say, gently pulling on a stem to show her the cluster of pink fruits gathered at the end. Freya nods. “Yeah, pretty just like him,” Dean adds.

Castiel feels his cheeks rise, tugging the corners of his lips into a small smile.

“Boys can’t be pretty,” Freya says.

“Sure, they can, and I think Uncle Cas is one of prettiest.”

Castiel decided that he was probably mishearing, but he still felt his cheeks blush and his stomach flip at the thought that Dean considered him pretty. He’d never been called that before.

“He’s almost as pretty as young Harrison Ford. Not even he could compare to Han Solo though.”

Castiel rolled his eyes. That’s more like it.

Freya was staring up at Dean, “What’s a hand so-lo?”

Dean snickered and put an arm around her shoulder, giving her a quick squeeze and a kiss on her temple before pointing to one of the fruits. “Do you wanna’ try one?” he asks, and she nods again, this time more enthusiastically. Dean looks around, pretending to make sure the coast is clear, and picks one of the raspberries, holding it up to the light and blowing on it before handing it to her. As he does, he puts a finger to his lips. “Don’t tell Uncle Cas,” he says, as if Castiel would ever have the heart to deny her anything, and then he twists one off for himself, throws it up and catches it with his mouth.

Castiel could hardly believe what had just happened. Dean eating fruit and calling him pretty? If it weren’t for the fact it wasn’t possible, he would have thought he was dreaming.

“Come on, I want to show you this one,” he says as he chews, standing up a little straighter and holding a hand out behind him for her to grab. She takes it and totters alongside him. They stop in front of the cherry tree, it standing a little taller than Dean himself, it’s waxy leaves still and shiny. He lifts her onto his shoulders, and Castiel can’t hear them anymore, but he sees Dean pointing, and Freya’s little hand reaching for the cherries, and he thinks to himself that it’s not hard to guess why Sam turned out as well as he did.

Freya is still on his shoulders when they return, Dean swinging her legs as they walk. “Okay, who’s gonna take this little rugrat while I cook the burgers?” he says, reaching up to tickle her sides. Her giggle chimes through the garden.

“Me!” Jack declares, standing up so fast he almost trips. Dean lifts her down, and passes her to him. He does a little wave, and heads over to Sam at the barbeque, patting Jack’s shoulder as he passes.

“Do you want to see something special?” Jack asks her, and when she nods, he walks over to the other side of the path, where the hyssops live, and Castiel smiled. He and Jack had planted those a few months earlier as a memorial to Kelly. Castiel had wanted Jack to have somewhere he could go to remember her. That corner of the garden had been bare before then, only home to Dean’s workbench and Castiel’s compost. Now, it was decorated with bright, blooming flowers, popular with the bees, and the most beautiful part of his garden. Even in death, Kelly managed to breathe life into the emptiest spaces.

“They’re purple,” Freya says in her little voice, her hands grabbing for the flower closest to her.

“They are,” Jack agrees, before moving back a little. “We’ve got to be careful of the bees. They’re friendly but if they get scared they can sting.”

It dawns on Castiel how much Jack has grown up, and he wonders when it had happened. It seemed like only yesterday they’d all been terrified that he’d bring the world to its knees, but here he was, holding Freya’s hand and admiring the flowers with her. He was so mature now – nurturing too. He’d taken to being an older brother so naturally. Castiel thought back to a night, when Freya had just been born, when he’d overheard him and Dean having a conversation as he passed Jack’s room on the landing. Jack hadn’t been sleeping well for a few days, and Dean had finally managed to get Jack to confess that it was because he was worried about Freya. He was worried that he wouldn’t be good enough brother – that he couldn’t be as good as Dean was to Sam. Dean’s voice was serious and low when he told Jack that he wasn’t responsible for her – that she had enough people that loved her that he just needed to look out for her, but it wasn’t his job to take care of her. It had surprised Castiel to hear Dean say that, but he’d appreciated it. Castiel hadn’t wanted Jack to feel that same burden that had plagued Dean his entire life, and it was clear that Dean didn’t either.

Jack starts to chase Freya around the garden, and her giggles and squeaks instantly put a smile on Castiel’s face. He feels Dean loop an arm over his shoulder and looks up. Dean is watching the two of them as they run, his lips pulling into a private smile.

“Sam and Eileen might have trouble getting her back,” Castiel comments, and sees Dean smile wider.

“Yeah,” Dean chuckles.

“He’s so good with her.”

“He gets that from you.” Dean says it like it was the most obvious thing in the world, and it leaves Castiel with a warm ache in his chest. He was still recovering from what Dean had said to Freya earlier, and with this, and in this heat, he felt as if he might melt, although he didn’t want Dean to know that.

Doing his best to act casual, he replies, “I would argue that he gets it from you.”

Dean finally moves his gaze from Jack and Freya to Castiel. His eyes are soft, and he plants a kiss on the top of his head.

“What do you want on your burger?”

“However you have yours is fine.”

He squeezes Castiel’s shoulder, taking one last glance at Jack and Freya, and then turns back to the barbeque.

After they finish eating, Castiel finally gets his turn with Freya. They sit in the sunniest patch of grass in the garden, cross-legged, and Castiel tries his best to split the stem of a daisy and start a chain.

“I like your plants.” Freya says, picking the tiny white flowers that dotted the ground in front of them.

Castiel smiles, and manages to make an opening with his fingernail. “Thank you.” From the pile Freya had made on his knee, he plucks a daisy and pushes it through the gap.

“Uncle Dean’s favourite is that one,” she points to the cherry tree, “and he said you bake the best pies ever.”

“Did he?”

Freya nodded her head. “Mm-hmm, he also said he wanted to ask you something, but I’m not allowed to say,” she says, her voice hushed, before leaving another handful of daises on his knee.

“That’s okay.” Castiel didn’t think much of it – Dean had been begging him for an apple pie for a few weeks now, but the apples weren’t ripe enough yet, and Castiel had joked that if he asked one more time he would never make him another pie again. Maybe Dean had thought he was serious. He couldn’t think of anything else Dean would want to ask him. Castiel makes another gap in the newest daisy’s stem and pushes another one through. “Do you have a favourite?”

“I like the purple ones,” she pointed over Castiel’s shoulder to the hyssops, “they’re pretty.”

“I like those too,” is all he says. Freya can learn about Kelly another day.

He works away at the daisy chain, listening intently as Freya tells him about how her Barbie dolls got married, and how Jack and her had cooked them dinner for their anniversary in the playhouse earlier, and when he looks up from his busy hands, he notices that her tongue sits in the corner of her mouth when she’s trying her best to copy him and squash a daisy through the stem of another. He wonders if he’ll ever tire of discovering which endearing Winchester traits she inherited. He doesn’t think he will.

Castiel was just checking the size of the chain against the top of Freya’s head when he heard Dean call to him from the table. Tying the loose end around the first daisy’s stem, he made the chain into a loop and crowned her with it, the flowers dazzlingly white against her long dark curls.

“You look very beautiful, Your Majesty,” Castiel tells her.

“And powerful!” she asserts, furrowing her brow a little. She was definitely a Winchester.

“Oh, yes, and very powerful,” Castiel says in his most serious voice, and she smiles wide, lifting her chin up.

Dean called to him again, “Cas? Cas come on; I want to show you something.”

“Let’s go see what Dean wants,” he says, brushing his legs as he stands and lifting Freya into his arms. Halfway up the path, Dean meets them and grabs Castiel’s shoulder, pushing him towards a seat at the table. Castiel places Freya on his knee as he sits, fixing her crown when it falls to one side.

“Wait here,” Dean instructs and then races up the steps and disappears into the kitchen. Castiel looks at Sam and Eileen, who are smiling at him. Before he can ask why, he hears Dean start to sing behind him.

“ _Happy Birthday to you.”_ Castiel turns his head back and sees Dean, a cake in his hands, heading down the steps. _“Happy Birthday to you.”_ He’s beaming as he moves to Castiel, Jack following closely behind. _“Happy Birthday to Cas.”_ They all gather around, and Dean places the cake just in front of Castiel, a hand on his shoulder. _“Happy Birthday to you.”_

At the end of the song, they cheered and clapped, but it was white noise in Castiel’s ears. All he could do was stare. He looked around at the smiling faces, everyone he loved in one place, and was so overcome with joy and surprise that all he could do was sit there and stare.

After a moment, he finally managed, “But I- I don’t have a birthday.”

“Well you do now,” Dean said, a wide grin on his face, squeezing Castiel’s shoulder. “Blow your candles out then. Oh, and you gotta’ make a wish before you do.”

There was a pull in Castiel’s chest, and his breath hitched. He had a birthday. A day dedicated to him, given to him by those he loved most. His lungs refused to work. He thought he knew that they loved him before, but it was only at that moment that he truly believed it, and it hit him like a tonne of bricks. Sam and Dean Winchester loved him back.

He could feel tears pooling in his eyes, his vision blurry. Crying in public was not something he’d ever needed to worry about until now, but he’d learned from watching Dean over the years that it should be avoided at all costs. Dean couldn’t have taught him the most important part of that lesson, however – that it’s practically impossible to stop the tears from spilling over when the people you’ve spent years loving show you that they love you right back, and you actually believe it.

He looked down to Freya, who was mesmerized by the candles’ flames as they flickered in a gust of warm wind, and gave her a quick hug to ground himself. Fearing that he wouldn’t have enough air in his lungs to blow them out, he moves a strand of her hair behind her ear, leans down and says, “Are you gonna help me?”, and then he edges them both forward and closes his eyes. He can only think of one thing to wish for, and it was selfish, but it went round and round in his head.

_Please never let me lose them._

Together, he and Freya blow out the candles. He sits back and opens his eyes, and he can’t stop the tear that escapes over his lid. He looks up at Dean, who’s brow was pinched, and offers him a smile. He wants to explain that he’s okay – that he’s just so overwhelmed, and that it’s still so unfamiliar to feel sometimes, especially this intensely, and that he just needs a second, but all he can do is offer that weak little smile and hope Dean understands.

It seems to work, because the next thing out of Dean’s mouth is, “Okay, I know the cake looks terrible, but you don’t have to cry about it,” and Castiel sniffles a laugh. Realising that he hasn’t even looked at the cake yet, he blinks back the rest of his tears and, remembering to breathe, focuses his eyes on what was in front of him. There it was, round with white icing, uneven and patchy in places, and in blue squiggly letters, slightly left of the centre, were the words _Happy Birthday Cas!_ and something that vaguely resembled a flower, although Castiel couldn’t tell what kind. There were two indents at the bottom where the cake met the board, probably from where Dean had moved it on there after decorating and accidentally pushed his fingers into the icing. If he were being honest, it looked like Freya had made it, but the cake was Dean all over – messy and imperfect, and Castiel loved it with everything he had.

“I know you’re the baker around here, but I couldn’t have you baking your own surprise birthday cake.”

“Dean, thank you,” he looks around to everyone, “All of you. This is-”

Freya starts to whine, wrestling from Castiel’s arms and fighting to run a finger through the icing. There’s a chorus of laughter, and then Eileen comes to take her from Castiel.

“I think the Queen wants her cake now,” she jokes.

Dean goes back to the kitchen for a knife and some plates, and when he returns he says, “Okay, so the birthday boy gets to pick his slice. What piece do you want, Cas?”

Castiel looks at him and squints his eyes. He didn’t understand why the slice mattered – it all came from the same cake, so why would one slice taste different to another?

His confusion must’ve been written on his face, because Dean laughs and adds, “Usually the person whose birthday it is gets the slice with the most icing or a specific part of the design.”

That was a nice tradition, Castiel thought. “In that case I’ll take a slice with the deformed flower please.”

Dean goes to oblige before realising what Castiel has said. He turns back and gives him a look. “Just because it’s your birthday I’ll let that one slide.”

Once everyone has a slice, Dean cuts himself a piece. Somehow, even after serving himself last, his slice is still the biggest. “So, I used Cas’ jam in between the layers. Even if the cake is inedible that should be good.”

Castiel felt that burn on his cheeks again.

“Cas, you never told us you make jam,” Sam says as he’s putting half of the generous slice Dean had cut him back.

“I’ve only just started,” Castiel replies, “We had a lot of strawberries to use up and _someone_ refuses to eat fruit unless it comes in pie crust.” Castiel looks at Dean, expecting a witty response about how sugar comes from plants and is therefore a fruit. Instead, he sees him pushing in as much cake as his mouth will allow, Jack and Freya doing the same either side of him. Their mouths were covered in the jam and blue icing, and all three of them were completely engrossed in eating. Castiel notices Sam and Eileen looking at them too, and catches their eyes. They share a chuckle under their breaths.

✿ ⚘ ✿ ⚘ ✿ ⚘ ✿

Castiel said his goodbyes, and Dean went to help Jack pack his bags into Sam and Eileen’s car. Castiel was alone in the garden, sat on an overturned bucket by Kelly’s flowers, and glancing over the memorial stone. There was more of a breeze now, and the hyssop petals, radiantly purple against the green of the stems, danced in it.

“Hi, Kelly,” he started, “it’s Castiel. It was a nice day today. Sam, Dean, Eileen, and Jack organised me a surprise birthday. I cried,” he shook his head and laughed under his breath, “it was very embarrassing. I wish you could’ve been here to see it though. It’s been so long, but Jack and I- we still miss you.”

Castiel looked up as he spoke. Strokes of orange and pink rested on the horizon, the light dimming as the sun retired for the day, and the lilac clouds were soft and fleecy. With everyone gone, the garden was quiet for the first time that day, and Castiel focused on the soft hum of the bees as they moved from flower to flower, the hushed chatter of crickets from over the fence, and the bird’s mellow chirping, the sun’s lullaby, from where they nested in the trees above. One bird’s song was a little louder than the others, and particularly musical, and he was reminded of Freya’s giggle.

“You’d have loved to have seen Jack playing with Freya. He’s a good brother to her. I wish you could have seen them together because you’d have been so proud.” He smiles and thinks about how Kelly would have looked if she’d been there that afternoon – skin bronzed, smile wide, her infinitely kind expression and her hand squeezing Castiel’s as they watched them play.

“I’m so glad he chose me. It’s been such a privilege to raise him, Kelly – a gift. I may not be Jack’s biological father, but he is my son. Sam, Eileen, Dean, and I – we all love him like he’s our own. I- I hope all of us are able to fill the void that was left when you passed. I hope we’re raising him to be the man you knew he could be.” He stays there like that for a minute before he adds, “I think he’ll be better than we could have ever dreamed,” and brushes his hand over the memorial stone. “I hope you’re okay up there, Kelly.”

He stood up, and as he walked up the path, through the door and into the kitchen, Castiel could hear the faint tones of a soft and soothing saxophone and the twinkling of piano keys, something he vaguely recognised from days spent researching in the bunker all those years before. When he entered the living room, he found the source of the sound – a vinyl spun on Dean’s turntable, the smooth crooning of Ella Fitzgerald, slow and steady, trickling through the house. Dean was standing at the window, watching as Sam strapped Freya in her car seat and sat behind the steering wheel. Castiel met Dean there, placing a hand on the small of his back, and they both waved as the car pulled away. Dean leans his head onto Castiel’s shoulder and sighs. No matter how long they’d spent together, or how soon they’d be reunited, Dean always lost some of his glow when they left. Dean lived for his family, and it was almost as if a part of him went with them whenever they were gone.

Trying to think of a way to distract him, Castiel decided to ask him something that had been on his mind all day.

“Why today?”

Dean lifts his head. “Hmmm?”

“Why did you pick today to be my birthday?”

“Oh,” Dean shifts his gaze and heads towards the turntable, “it’s stupid.” He picks up the vinyl sleeve that was sat on the side and flips it over. Castiel might have believed he was reading the track list if it weren’t for his eyes staying fixed in one spot.

“Dean, I cried over a cake today, it can’t be anymore stupid than that.” Just reminding Dean about it made his cheeks warm again. Embarrassment always was his least favourite discovery about humanity.

Dean chuckled, and put the sleeve back down. “Well,” he starts, a hand rubbing the back of his neck, “it’s the date we met.”

Castiel felt his expression soften, and there was a warm ache in his chest again. Dean had remembered after all.

Every year on this day, Castiel had wondered whether to bring it up, but he never had. First it was because he didn’t want to make Dean uncomfortable, and one year it was because they were in Purgatory, but recently it was because he didn’t think Dean had remembered, and, if he was being honest, he’d rather go on wondering if Dean remembered than knowing for sure that he didn’t – the date was too significant to Castiel. Little did he know that it was significant to Dean too, and that he had remembered all along. If he weren’t so surprised, he’d laugh at how ridiculous the two of them were. Both of them had remembered and neither of them had said. That summed up their relationship perfectly.

There was a start of a devilish smile on Dean’s face. “Figured we’d make it the day you fell madly in love with the most handsome asshole you’d ever seen and started your journey to depravity.”

Of course, Dean would ruin a romantic moment with one of his ridiculous jokes. “That would be funny if it wasn’t true, Dean.”

Dean shakes his head and laughs. “That reminds me,” he says, holding a finger up and moving to the side table just beside them. He pulls out the draw and roots through it. When he turns back, he’s holding a small navy blue box. “Your birthday gift.”

Castiel reaches over and takes it from him. “I thought it was customary to wrap gifts.”

“Just open it.”

Castiel does what he’s told. Inside, there’s a silver ring.

“How do you feel about being Castiel Winchester?” Dean asks.

As much as he tried to speak, Castiel’s throat felt like it was closing, and his mouth was dry and the only thing he could think about was Dean’s voice in his head. _Castiel Winchester_. It felt so right – sounded so right on Dean’s lips. Dean wanted him to be a Winchester – the greatest honour there was, and Dean wanted to give it to him. He’d never realised how badly he’d wanted a surname until that moment, and now he was being given the best one of all. _Castiel Winchester_.

“Cas?”

Ever since he’d met Dean, he’d felt something – a pull. There was something about him that was so intoxicating. He wanted to know everything about him, to follow him anywhere, and he’d take whatever he could get – he was thankful for whatever Dean gave him, and that meant he never let himself hope for more. Even after Dean had kissed him, and moved in with him, and talked like they’d be together forever, he’d never let himself believe that one day Dean would want him around enough to make it official. Maybe in moments of weakness, like when Dean and Jack were asleep and he was left to his thoughts for the night, his mind had drifted, but Castiel knew it would kill him if he hoped and Dean took it all away – if he told him to go again – so he never let himself hope.

Castiel realises that he wouldn’t have to stop himself hoping anymore.

“You want me to get down on one knee? Is that it?” Dean grabs the box from Castiel’s loose grip and drops to the floor. “Cas, marry me goddammit.” His voice is shaky, his brows pulled to a point, and he looks around for a moment before he says, “I- I can’t think of the right words to say. For years I’ve been trying, but there aren’t enough to explain. I just need to spend the rest of my life with you, okay? So, marry me.”

Dean wanted Castiel to be a Winchester and he wanted him to have a permanent home in his family and he wanted to spend the rest of his life with him and Castiel realises that if he doesn’t say something now Dean might change his mind. He can’t let him change his mind.

“Come on, man, you’ve gotta’ say yes you’re killing me h-”

“Of course,” Castiel rushes out, the remainder of the air in his lungs going with the words. He places both hands on either side of Dean’s face and follows the faint lines of those crinkles in the corners of his soft, sparkling, peridot eyes. They gazed up at Castiel from underneath two sets of long eyelashes, the ends of which looked like they’d been sprinkled with the same gold dust his freckles were made of. The fullness of his cheeks meant that the skin under his lids was satiny where the light touched it, but Castiel’s eyes were drawn down, trailing the curve of Dean’s pearly pink lips. He resisted the pull of them long enough to say, “Dean, of course I will.”

_He loves Dean, and Dean loves him back._

Castiel leans down and kisses Dean softly, bringing him to his feet. When he’s standing again, Dean pulls Castiel in closer, his heart thumping hard against Castiel’s chest. When Castiel reluctantly draws away, Dean catches his arm and brings him in again, planting one more kiss on his lips.

“You really scared me, you idiot,” Dean chuckles as he drops his head and shakes it, “for a minute there I thought you were gonna’ say no.” The relief in his voice is tangible, and Castiel wonders how Dean could ever think that he wouldn’t blindly follow him to the ends of the Earth like he hadn’t already been doing it for fifteen years.

“So, for my birthday I finally got you to commit,” Castiel joked, knowing full well that it was the best gift Dean could have given him, but trying to calm Dean down.

Dean laughs, genuine and warm, and more musical than the song still playing behind them. “I-, I guess you did.” Meeting Castiel’s eyes, he says, his voice hushed, “I think you’re the only person who ever could,” and then he takes the ring out from its groove in the velvet and snaps the box shut, throwing it to one side. He takes Castiel’s hand, slides the silver band onto his finger and once it’s in its new home, he brings Castiel’s hand to his lips and places a chaste kiss there.

Mr and Mr Winchester. Castiel liked how that sounded.


End file.
